


Strolling Through the Fog

by Last_Haven



Series: Shitennou in Crystal Tokyo AU [3]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Manga)
Genre: Crossdressing, Crystal Tokyo Era, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Haven/pseuds/Last_Haven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midquel/Sequel to Fabricated. Ami discovers something surprising about Zoisite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strolling Through the Fog

It all started when a thick fog rolled in, blanketing Crystal Tokyo. Actually, it only really started when Kunzite went to Endymion to report that Zoisite had claimed illness to go visit the city. He wanted to go collect his wayward comrade, but Serenity—who happened to be standing next to Endymion when Kunzite went to him—had a different idea.

“-so, I want you to go get him,” she finished with a mischievous grin that Mercury hadn’t seen on her monarch’s face for some time. It’s what made her nod and go find the errant king, ignoring the anxiety in the usually stoic Kunzite’s face.

She certainly didn’t go out of any affection for Zoisite though—if Serenity knew that, she would pout. But, in honesty, Mercury just couldn’t help but dislike him. At first she found his abrupt disappearance to go help Jadeite in their search to be childish and at best stupid—they abandoned Endymion right when he became king, leaving only Kunzite to protect their liege. It took a year for even Nephrite to return from his family’s side—and in truth, she can’t hate or blame Nephrite for that, since if her parents were still alive, she would want to stay with them for a bit as well—but until then, Kunzite was the one guarding the King. But after they returned, ‘victorious’ if you could call them such, Zoisite slipped back into his previous role as if he always been at his king’s side.

She could have ignored him then, could have turned her head and kept her disdain to herself, but then he went and managed to best her in one of her few areas of expertise. Computers—the minute he got a hold of one, he proved himself to be just that much better at it than anyone. He knew computers inside and out, he claimed, because he was actually a computer technician, but what really steamed her off when Serenity and Endymion decided to let him handle most of the computer work. (Which did free up more time for her to actually go back to her medical studies, but the nerve he had to take her job and do it gleefully better than she did ruined it.)

Not that he went out of his way to try and look sympathetic. It was almost admirable how he refused to pussyfoot around the senshi like his comrades; instead bulldozed his way through any hesitance or unease. His presence screamed “Get used to me, or get over it” and Mercury could admire the confidence to take be that way. Could. Not that she did. Because she didn’t.

Really.

And this trip to go collect him wasn’t improving his status in her eyes any. She was glad she had thought to grab a long coat to hide her Sailor uniform and tucked her tiara into a large pocket as she walked the foggy streets. Now people’s gazes skipped past her as they bustled about, heading home out of the fog. The coat certainly helped when she had to keep ducking in bars to look for Zoisite.

She found him after checking six different bars, and at first she didn’t recognize him. She almost walked straight back out before her gaze flicked back to the musician at the piano. To her credit, she doubted any of the other Sailor Soldiers would have recognized him either—they also hadn’t seen him in a dress.

He glanced over to her with smoky, kohl lined eyes before his now ruby red lips rose into a hesitant smile. He turned to say something to the other musicians before getting up and walking over to her.

Perhaps it was just spite or jealousy, but as he walked over, a small part of her grumbled with anger. It was completely unfair that he looked better in a dress than she did. His outfit was dark navy blue, falling in elegant lines to the tops of his black, high heeled boots. He looked classy, the dress hanging in a modest way that could have explained away the lack of cleavage with a belt snug on his hips to give him a vaguely hourglass shape. His hair was clipped up into an artfully messy bun (but then, his hair was always ‘artfully messy’ as compared to regularly messy), and on his hands, which he folded ladylike in front of him, she could spot navy blue press on nails to match his dress.

He paused in front of her, but for once had the decency to look a little embarrassed to be caught, although something about him seemed more withdrawn, more wary. Was that a persona he created for the night and outfit or was it something else?

“Come to take me home, huh?” he asked softly while the band began tuning back up.

It took her a moment to remember how to speak. “Serenity ordered me too.”

If he cringed or frowned, he did it inwardly and instead looked polished and serene. “Do you mind waiting just for a few more songs? I promised to do some, and they don’t have another pianist in the group.”

She should have refused, should drag him back to the palace, or should take photos of this—for evidence! Or blackmail—not like she would have any other reason to keep such pictures around.

Right.

Instead she found herself nodding and taking a seat at the bar to watch—no, to keep an eye on him, so he wouldn’t run off.

She felt a small pang when she saw that his fingers glided over a piano’s keyboard just as naturally as any computer’s board, but he looked so happy, so free, she couldn’t find her usual disdain. Looking at him now as compared to him on the job, she wondered which was actually the real him. She bought a drink and then ignored it as he played on. Finally, he nodded to the band, stood and bowed to the appreciative audience, and at last made his way over to her.

There was that hesitance again, holding him back as he walked over. He had to pause and take a breath before smiling and announcing he was ready to go. They grabbed his coat and walked out, both of them falling silent—which was a shock, because Mercury could not remember a time when he _hadn’t_ talked.

It took three blocks before he finally turned to her. “Alright, I can’t stand this—do you have anything to say about how I’m dressed, or will I have to live the rest of my life in fear until you tell the others?”

She stared at him. Alright, she could also admire the direct, honest way he asked that. She mulled it over and finally settled on what felt right. “How you dress is for you to decide. I— or the other Sailor Soldiers—don’t have a say in it, nor do we have a right to.”

He stared at her for a long quiet moment, making her skin prickle with unease until he finally grinned. “Thank you.”

She would have liked an explanation though. But she was right before—she didn’t actually deserve nor need one. They weren’t friends; they were co-workers or colleagues at best, but what he did on his time off was his own business.

Still, she did wish he would have explained. Instead, they went back with him humming a jaunty tune all the way. They separated at the gates, him teleporting straight to his room—probably so no one else saw him—while she decided that a long walk would do her some good.

She found Jadeite waiting for her in one of the halls near her room, arms folded and face serious as he leaned against the wall. He didn’t even pretend that he hadn’t been waiting for her as he turned to her. “Did you find him?”

She nodded.

He paused _(Thinking about what?_ she wondered), and spoke again. “Will you tell the others about his… hobby?”

She blinked. “Playing piano on foggy nights is his hobby?” she asked carefully, face schooled into mild curiosity.

He didn’t answer for a full minute. “Among other things, yes.”

She shrugged. “It’s really none of my business what he does, hobbies or otherwise. And,” she added with an afterthought, “it’s really not important for the others to know either.”

He gazed at her critically, almost as if he was testing her, but finally he smiled. “No, I suppose not.” To her surprise, he gave a small, grateful bow. “Thank you for your time, Mercury.”

_And your silence_ went unsaid, but she nodded anyway and strolled past him to her room.

* * *

If that had been the last time she had gone to collect Zoisite from his foggy night truancy, Mercury supposed she could have just put the thing out of her mind. But Serenity was none if not persistent, and Mercury found herself often going out when the mists rolled in.

The second time, she found him nursing a drink before he was supposed to play a few more songs. He was still wary, but his grin seemed less forced.

The third time, she found him in a jazz club and he let her drag him home early for once.

The fourth time, she found him singing something in German, as he swung himself lazily around a light post.

“You’re German?” she asked as she trotted up to him to tug him down.

Zoisite never seemed to get drunk, and once again he proved his sobriety with a nonchalant shrug. “Swiss actually. I’m from a little town in Valais. I know a little French too.”

She shook her head at him, but helped him down. “No music tonight?”

“No; felt like making a little of my own without the piano for once,” he admitted, running his hand over every light post they passed with something like nostalgia. “Didja know, me and my cousin would go out every Friday, hit the bars and the clubs, play some music, and when it came time for last call, we would find a pair of light posts and serenade anyone around. Actually made some good money panhandling that way.”

 

She frowned; she hadn’t known he had a cousin. Actually, they didn’t really know much about any of the Kings’ families besides Nephrite who was more than happy to pull out his wallet to show anyone pictures if they asked about them. “What’s his name?”

“Hans,” Zoisite answered, sounding surprisingly wistful. “He became a doctor.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep. He went to the University of Cologne, and I went with him,” he sighed fondly.

Mercury nearly stumbled. “You went to the University of Cologne?”

He grinned lazily. “Yep. Shocked, aren’t you? He went to be a doctor, I went to learn about computers. We both wanted to get the hell out of our little hometown, and what was better than a prestigious university in Germany, huh?”

She was tempted to mention that she had once earned a scholarship to the very same university. Was that a strange whim of fate? What would have happened had she gone and found him there? “How was it?”

His grin turned from lazy to eager instantly. “Everything we ever dreamed of. I loved every second of it. The classes, the work, the parties, the culture—everything Cologne had to offer was like a dream come true.” He paused for a moment, his smile slipping. “It was probably the best time of my life.”

She blinked. “What happened?”

He glanced away, but when he turned back his smile looked painful. “We and some other students decided to spend break on a trip to Tokyo.”

She winced. “I-I’m sorry to bring that up. I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, bah,” he brushed her off, turning his face back to the front. “What happened… happened. And none of us can change that.”

_You would though, wouldn’t you? If you had the chance, if Pluto let you go back, you would have stopped yourself from ever going, wouldn’t you?_ She wanted to ask, but that seemed almost as unfair as everything that happened to him had, so she kept her mouth shut. After a moment of silence, she scrambled for something to say, cursing her ineptness at conversation. “I still don’t know your real name.”

He barked a laugh and jumped up to swing on a light post, an impressive feat for heels that tall. “You may call me Esmeralda, temptress of the night!”

She stared and then had to stop walking to keep from doubling over laughing. “Es-Esmeralda?”

He shrugged and hopped down off the light post. “I’m in purple tonight, you see.”

Her lips twitched. “Your name depends on the color you’re wearing?”

“Sure. Like, for blue, you may call me Fifi,” he grinned and began to stroll off again.

“That’s—cute,” she managed, “but that’s not what I meant.”

His smile altered in the slightest way, some strange mixture of emotion distorting it. “I know.”

They fell quiet for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Each time afterward, whenever she went to collect him, they managed to talk civilly as they strolled through the fog back to the palace. He talked about his hometown, his family—his mother, aunt, and cousin, but nothing about his father—and about his time in school. He lived near the mountains, loved hot cocoa with whipped cream while snow fell outside a window, and found cherry blossoms to be his favorite thing about spring time in Japan. To her surprise, she found she talked about her past just as much—about her scholarships, about her mother, about studying to be a doctor, and once even about her parents’ divorce. Neither talked about their years as warriors—as a Sailor Soldier or a Dark Kingdom general.

It took until the fourteenth walk before he told her about when he first started cross dressing.

“I had always felt anxious,” he murmured softly, as if hoping the fog while hide up his words too. “Growing up, I was told girls wore girly things, boys wore boyish things and if you did otherwise then you were the worst kind of freak. I always felt dirty about it, like I was committing a sin. Only Hans knew, but he didn’t mind. When we went to college, he was the one to talk me into wearing my clothes out whenever it was foggy enough for us to sneak out without anyone recognizing us.”

“Is that why you wait for the fog?” she asked.

He smiled. “Yes. Call it being sentimental if you like, but it always feels best to wait for a good fog cover. Or, well, if one of the others decides to come with me, I don’t mind dressing up then.”

She blinked—she hadn’t, for some reason, realized that any of the other Kings approved or went out with him in women’s clothes. For a moment, she pictured them all in drag, but at the image of either the equally broad Nephrite or Kunzite in high heels and a skirt, she nearly dropped to the ground laughing. She clutched at Zoisite’s arm for balance as she used the other hand to try to smother her giggles.

“I’d like to ask what that was about, but I’m afraid of the answer,” he teased. “You’re not high are you? Did Jadeite hook you up with something? Because the bastard refuses to give me any and that’s not fair if you won’t share.”

She stared and ended up giggling all over again. By the time she caught her breath, he had an arm around her shoulder to hold her up. They both seemed to realize how close they really were, but before she could stutter an excuse he bent his head down to hers, his mouth hovering uncertainly above hers for but a moment, and then he pressed his lips to hers.

She wondered idly if this was some sort of sign, the fact that the first person she kissed in a long, long time happened to be a man dressed as a gorgeous woman. But when he pulled back, she frowned as she remembered what he said—about going out into the fog, like hiding behind a veil, hiding in plain sight—and abandoned caution to the wind and drew courage from the mist surrounding them. She reached up and pulled him back down, almost sending the two of them crashing to the sidewalk in her fervor.

When they finally parted, both of them panting harshly, lipstick smudged on both of their faces, Zoisite grinned. “We should really do this more often.”

“Well,” she panted, “I _can_ actually call on the mists whenever I want.”

He kissed once more, too passionate to be chaste but tame enough for him. “Kanaye.”

She blinked. “What?”

He grinned. “My name—it’s Kanaye.”

She paused then smiled back. “I’m Ami.”

“Well, Ami,” he kissed her again. “Told you running around in the fog is the best way to have fun.”

* * *

If anyone noticed that fog seemed to cover Crystal Tokyo an unusually large amount of the time, well, most people just shrugged and blamed the weather.


End file.
